


Above And Below The Mirror

by ididntdoit_blameitonthedragon



Series: Altean Bedtime Stories [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Adventure, All Hail Prince Hunk, Alternate Universe – Fantasy, Budding Romance, Coming Of Age Style, Developing Relationships, Eventual Romance, F/M, Female pronouns for Pidge, Folklore, Gen, Kid Fic, Langst, Love at First Sight, M/M, Magic, Marmora Tribe, Mermaid Hunk, Mermaid Kings & Queens, Slow Burn, klance, mermaid, mermaid Pidge, mermaid lance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-05-15 02:05:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14781554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ididntdoit_blameitonthedragon/pseuds/ididntdoit_blameitonthedragon
Summary: Keith is of the Marmora Tribe. He’s still but a child, but he’s mature enough to leave the safety of the camp to venture out by himself. He doesn’t fear the mother’s tails of monsters in the forest, of nightmares in the dark, or creatures that lurk in the lake. What he does fear is the White Man, and the growing distance between himself and his brother.But with the meeting of another, Keith is quick to understand that the mother’s tales are more than they appear to be. Especially since his newfound friend has a…tail?-------------- ♦ --------------------- ♦ --------------------- ♦ --------------Where once, the Mer’s focus for the Above was the Sun and her warmth, now stood different. Not the Above itself, but a creature that lived there. It was the boy that had fallen into the Lake’s depth one day, jolting Lance from his hunt of smooth stone pebbles at the mouth of the Eastern Stream. He had watched him, torn between curiosity and fear of a creature he had only heard of in tales.But it was true.Humans were real.Currently on HIATUS whilst I finish other works





	1. Prologue

_The child floated lazily in the shallows of the Lake, body half in the water, half in the air, smiling to the clouds that floated in the Above, just as lazy as him. He lay there, letting the sun warm his face, feeling the slick of reeds on his fingers as they swirled the water around him, sculling the water to keep himself in the warmth of the shadows. There was no movement to water other than the lapping he created and that of the waves on the shore, caressed by the Wind that brushed the forest; calling leaves up to dance to the sounds of the shaking branches.  
Lance listened to the forest’s songs, wondering if the Nymphs were out to play, wondering if he’d be lucky to see a creature as beautiful as a Forest Sprite. His mother often told him stories of the people of the leaves; those that shielded themselves from wondering eyes in bark shells and capes of woven green._

_Lance strained to listen to the Wind as she laughed, racing through the trees, and telling tales of faraway lands. Lance wanted to see. He wanted to hear every tale she could tell him, see every sight that she saw as she raced from one mountain to another. His mother had told him such things weren’t needed, that Lance should be happy with his life. He had everything he should ever want; friends, a loving family and a safety he wouldn’t find away from this mountain that he called ‘Home’._  
Yet Lance was a child, adventurous and wild. He understood that what Mother said was only to keep him close to her, keep him safe.  
But safe was boring. Safe was the same thing, day in and day out. 

_Lance wanted adventure._ He wanted discovery.  
_He could follow the Lake to the deep caves and explore the darkness; the depths of water that never saw sun. Or perhaps he’ll take the river, sail the currents to the valley floor and beyond, to where the water glittered in the sun, to where the water never ended…_

_Lance lifted his arms from the water, watching goose bumps rise as the Wind laughed past him, brushing against him invitingly. But Lance was not of the sky. He was not blessed with wings like birds, or the legs of the horses that could run for miles and miles._

_Lance was of the Mer. His tail was his blessing; the colour of the sky when the sun warms it and the clouds retreat to the furthest corners of the Above._  
It is the colour of the ‘Forget Me Not Flowers’ _that bloom near that bank, his own skin holding petals of colour in scales, lovingly curving up his back, his stomach and arms. They flutter in groups, light as kisses against skin as golden as honey, as warm as the earth in which the Nymphs plant their roots and dance to the song of rain._  
His tail is the misting trail the Will-O’-the-Wisp leave, as soft and light as their light they leave to guide Lance on an adventure he could never have.

_Lance’s tail is precious to him; it defines him.  
He is Mer; a child of the water._

_He is also being watched._


	2. In Search Of Solitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith searches for his Brother, but stumbles on something remarkable instead.

Keith stumbled again, his foot catching on a tree root he was sure he had overstepped.   
But he hadn’t, and balance was lost as he fell for the fifth time, hands scraping on the bark as he reached out for a hand to save him from the ground. He was gifted none; instead kissed lovingly with mud that caked his face and pushed deep into his hair that fell messily in front of his eyes. 

A sharp pain pulled his thoughts to his cheek. Wet.   
_Blood?_

Keith pressed the back of his hand, light touches to the source of the stinging, wincing when the pain coursed under his skin at the feather-light kiss of skin to skin. His dorsal came away bloody; the sensation of hot blood just as unpleasant as the sweat sticking clothes and hair to his body. He rubbed the blood away on the legs of his pants, before turning them palm-up to inspect the stinging of more broken skin.   
Blood bloomed in streaks on the soft parts; a particularly nasty tear between his thumb and his index, still muddy and gritty from where dirt stuck to him like snake scales. He forces the skin between his teeth, tongue lapping at the dirt, ignoring the earthen taste of mud as he forces himself back onto his knees. 

Keith glared at the tendril of bark beside him, its jagged tip as bloody as the gash that it had carved across his cheek. Anger curls his fist around the spindly branch and the measly root was snapped out of petty revenge. Still, doing so made the boy feel better as he stood, ready to continue once more. 

The stinging of open cuts remained; taunting words for stupidity of falling etched into the pain. Keith distracts himself away from it, palms scratching at his fringe to move it from his face, deciding that it is his hair to blame for his miscalculation on the height of the tree root and not the idea he was overzealous in his pacing.   
Keith’s not even aware he’s holding his breath as he fights the tears that are building in his eyes.   
He won’t cry. _He will not cry._

Keith wasn’t weak, not him. He wasn’t like the other children back in his Tribe. He refused to be like those children; the ones that cried and wailed, calling for their mothers and fathers to make everything better. 

It didn’t matter if Keith cried or not. There was no one there for Keith to cry to.   
His Ma was no longer of this world, Thace having already left on the Hunt with the other Men of the Tribe, gone for the Summer, not to return until Late Winter, or perhaps Early Spring if the Mountain Pass snows in again. That left Shiro… 

Shiro was the reason Keith was out here.   
If not, Keith would’ve spent his day trekking the valley floor, hunting rabbits, or the swooping birds in the Plateau’s sweet grass. He’d patch the weave of the tent, or hunt the river bed for black rock washed down from the top of the valley. Instead, he’s searching for a brother who had dismissed him so he could venture up to the Three Peak Mountain alone. Keith had seen him leave many times, but today was the first day he had decided to follow him. Except… _Keith had lost him._  
Shiro was older, taller and his longer legs covered distances quicker than Keith’s smaller legs. Even though the child of twelve summers was agile, nimble and quick, he’d been no match for the uneven terrain of the Mountain trail. Shiro traversed the climb with ease, quickly disappearing into the underbrush that left Keith panting and chasing a back he could never reach…   
And now he was lost. 

To him, every tree looked the same, every rock just as familiar as the one before that left Keith wondering if he was walking in circles, wearing himself out without progress to here or there. He was trying to go uphill, to find an outcrop that would let him overlook the valley and at least spot Home.  
He had tried climbing a tree to see the sky, searching for the smoke trails that lie above the canopy. But the Sun sat too high in the sky, the day too early for the mothers to begin cooking for the evening meals that even if a tree gave the boy easy passage to the bending branches above, he’d only be lost looking out over the valley and the Hierochloe Plateau of never ending sea of long grass.   
It was now that Keith was beginning to regret his decision of leaving the Tribe, knowing too well that by the time he reached the valley floor, Night would be upon him and it would be harder to track the path of his nomadic people. He was left with the only option of wandering and hoping that he could find Home before Shiro returned first. He knew he had at least until dark, but the boy had to find the right direction first.

_At least it’s not raining,_ he thought to himself, taking a moment to appreciate the clear skies that lie above the canopy. It’s not that he hated rain; he certainly appreciated _Great Spirit Mother’s_ role of giving life, but her gift would make it hard to navigate the wilderness. Besides, she’d make him cold and he preferred the sweaty worn out, yet comfortably dry of _‘now’._  
Dry was the plan. And Keith was able to maintain that way for another hour or so, before tripping on a root and sending himself tumbling down the hill, slipping off of a somewhat high ridge and into the shallows of the Mountain Lake. 

The cold water forced the air out of his body from shock. Despite it being mid-Spring, and the rays of the sun had warmed the air enough for it to make Keith sweat, the lake was yet to raise its temperature to that of comfortable. 

Keith’s teeth chattered as he forced himself away from the ledge, around to where the earth dipped down to create the banks of the Lake’s border. He cursed the trickster god _Keoonik_ for the unpleasant prank, pulling himself up the bank.   
He used the roots of a nearby sapling to haul himself away from the water reeds, knowing not to kick his legs for fear of his ankles being ensnared in their slimy grasp. 

The water may have been cold, but Keith’s cheek burned _hot._ The fresh cut didn’t appreciate the dunk of lake water, but Keith knew enough from his Da’s lectures, and all the teachings of the Tribe that told him to clean cuts for fear of infection. Touching it with dirty hands hadn’t been smart, but Keith never claimed to be blessed with the wisdom of his Ancestors.   
Just their curiosity and bravery and stubbornness.  
 _He would not cry._

Slowly, and with shaking hands, he stripped off the deer hide tunic, laying it beside him on a small crop of rocks, hoping the sun rays would be strong enough to dry it whilst he caught his breath. His undergarments came off too, also soaked.   
The boy laid his boots upside down, but Keith doubted they and their fur linings would dry before he was ready to descend the Mountain. He knew the way down now, needing only follow the shoreline to the Southern Stream that would run down to the Valley. From there, it was simply a matter of tracking the horses to the Tribe’s settlement. 

Dressed only in a simple undergarment, Keith knelt near the lapping waves, washing his hands of Earth. He bowed over the lake, taking water in cupped hands to wipe the remains of dried blood from his face, dragging fingers through his long hair to pull it back away from his face. The water helped to wash away the weariness too, although the unexpected dip in the Lake had already jolted him out of his bored stupor. 

Relinquishing himself to the idea he wasn’t leaving anytime soon, Keith settled himself on the rocks near his drying clothes, comfortable as he basked on the warm rock, sunning himself as he looked out over the serene quiet of the Lake shore, ears perked for the sound of approaching footsteps. It wouldn’t surprise him if a Beast came to drink from the Lake, but he’d rather not be surprised by a bear or a wolf, if he could help it. 

Keith felt different as he laid upon the rock, staring at the surface of the lake, mesmerised by the dance of dragon flies, the rippling of insects that skimmed the surface for a drink. Shapes darted beneath them until suddenly a fish leapt from the depths, swallowing the unsuspecting insects, whole. Across the lake, a herd of Caribou slipped from the shadows of the tree line, to the water’s edge to drink. Some had their heads down whilst others were on look out. A few of them were staring in Keith’s direction.  
More fish leapt from the depths, glittering scales that reflected the rainbow arching with splashes of water, rippling out, merging, forming beautiful circular patterns with a magic Keith never learnt to appreciate. It was the _Great Spirit Mother’s_ magic; details in another world he was a part of, but apart from in every essence of his being. 

The boy no longer thought himself as such, learning truths that marred his innocence, forcing him to mature quicker than the other children of his tribe. While they played in the shallows and swam in the rivers, he fished and hunted. While they sang songs around the campfire and chased one another between the tents, he was learning how to track and hunt. While they played pretend, Keith was teaching himself how to become a warrior, whether Shiro or Thace approved or not.   
But here, in the peace and quiet of solitude, Keith allowed himself to fall back into that childish innocence he had deprived himself of. He shimmied out of his under garment took to the water. Keith stayed in the shallows and far away from the water reeds. It wasn’t that he feared what may hide in them, but instead of the slimy hands latching around his legs and trapping him Below. He feared drowning.   
No one would find his body here, and no one to bury him would mean his soul would be bound to this life, and he couldn’t follow his ancestors to the Beyond. 

The Elders had all told the stories by firelight, but with every lesson Keith began to wonder if he would be allowed entry to the Beyond. Or, like his Ma, would he be barred because of their differences?   
The blood that ran in Keith’s veins was the same that ran through the White Man’s, who would come with their Guns and their Metal and Death. The boy hated his heritage, hated his Ma for birthing him and abandoning him for another life.

Shiro too, remained different. Neither was bound by blood, their own ties held in their pale skin and differences from the Tribe. Yet Shiro wasn’t treated like an outcast. Already reaching his sixteenth summer, and the twelfth since being rescued and accepted into the Marmora Tribe, Shiro was nearing adulthood, and would soon leave for the Warrior’s Trail; the rite of passage for all Marmora Children.   
Even that seemed an unachievable goal to Keith; a child outcast by his peers and the people who were meant to be his family.   
The Elders, as well as his Da, had said he was Marmora, and would also be allowed to undergo the challenges of the Warrior’s Trail, but doubts were Keith’s constant companion and he feared what lay in the future for him. 

Ridding himself of the thoughts, Keith swum out a ways, not too far to the Deep or above the lurking shadows, but enough that he couldn’t reach the bottom on a full breath of air. Then, returning inshore a little, he began diving down to scour the bed for flint or sharp rocks weathered by the water flow. It became a game, of how many Keith could find before the air called him and his lungs began to burn with the tension he placed them under each time he dived beneath the surface. 

The day beside the Lake was calming, and the peace of not putting up fronts was a welcome respite, enough that Keith abandoned the idea of searching for Shiro, even after his clothes were dry. Midday came and went, Nightfall approaching and Keith knew that his Brother had already returned to the Tribe.  
Returning to the shore, his rock pile remaining on the outcrop he had dried his clothes upon, he pulled on layer after layer, one after the other, chasing the river to the valley, readying himself for the repercussions from the Elder’s for disappearing for so long.

\--------------------- ♦ --------------------- ♦ --------------------- ♦ ---------------------

Three days passed before Keith once again found himself stood on the shore of the lake. He had tried to return the day before but, unable to find his way, was forced to return Home, hot, sweaty and irritable.  
He had snapped when Shiro pried to his whereabouts; playing the concerned brother only when it suited him to. Tempers flared when Shiro demanded the answers from his _“stubborn and irresponsible”_ little brother, rebuffed when Keith turned the tables, wanting to know where Shiro disappeared to, the countless trips to Three Peak, even now that the Nomadic Tribe took settlement in the lower forest glade near the _Pa’ah Falls_ of the _Hierochloe Plateau._  
Why couldn’t Keith venture out on his own? It wasn’t like anyone cared anyway.

The anger of disrespect washed away when Keith came to the Lake; him being quick to accept the peace that he had found in the open air of the Mountain Lake.   
Days passed much like the first had; the young boy taking to the water like a bird to the sky, abandoning the weight of his life in favour of the tranquillity he had found in such a remote, yet bountiful location. The boy would please himself, scouring the lake bed for more black stone, basking on the rock he claimed for himself when the water became too cold.   
Some days Keith wouldn’t swim at all. He’s just sit, idle on his rock with a water skin and a spread of berries he had plucked as he climbed towards his haven. The seeds were planted along the shore, watered and blessed, returning to the _Great Spirit Mother_ what the boy had taken, encouraged to grow and continue the cycle of life. 

Keith learnt how to swim amongst the water weeds. He’d claw with his hands, legs immobile to stop them from being caught; watching the minnows and little fish that took shelter in the green. Rounder stones remained buried in the silt under the roots of the willow sapling that grew beside Keith’s rock outcrop, the treasures much like glass pebbles joining Keith’s pile of the ragged black rock. 

Another day, Keith spent it in the forest, finding tall, straight shoots of hazel, where they grew in competition with other shrubs and trees. Taking them back to the waterside, he stripped the bark and bundled them, copying what he saw the Warriors prepare arrow shafts before they left for the Hunt. He lost himself in the process of whittling the wood, using the sharp stone he had collected as his tools. They were not for any more purpose than the art of practising in private; perfecting a craft he knew would be useful to him later, if he decided to follow Shiro’s path and commit himself to the Warrior’s Trail.   
There was something mindful with the craft of smoothing the wood, yet when Keith had attempted to craft himself more arrows back in camp, he had heard the whispering of the Mothers. No such tranquillity came for the boy, even undertaking a task that he had found such serenity. Perhaps it was the lake itself. 

Soon, it became a daily ritual to venture up to the mountain. He’d hunt in the morning; small game to be cooked on a fire come Midday. He’d clean and bathe in the shallows, slowly becoming accustomed to the paths along the lake’s basin, familiar with the stones and underwater currents as much as the paths that brought Keith to and from his haven.   
After a full moon cycle had passed, Keith was able to swim out twice the distance as his first day, able to stay at the bottom of the lake for extended periods of time.   
It was peaceful. It was calm. 

Keith lay on his rock spire, admiring what he never thought to appreciate before. Hunting taught him patience of waiting, but here the reward was greater; herds of Deer and Elk approaching the watering hole, young wolf pups splashing on the far shore. Birdsong, uninterrupted, filling the air with life, telling stories of distant lands, sharing tales that Keith only dreamt of understanding.   
Water birds nursing their young swam in the safe haven of reed-beds, the chicks called away from exploring by the darting of the dragonflies that hovered above. 

Even on days were the morning mist refused to leave the air, leaving the sky bleak and grey, Keith would listen to the lapping waves, the splash of fish that leapt from the water; a mirror of silver. He watched bears teach cubs to fish, he saw the wind and the leaves dance on the surface; pushed along like little canoes without a paddle, only to be sunk by curious creatures under the surface. 

It was peaceful. _It was calm._

Yet Keith’s peaceful and calm days could not continue, it seemed, by will of the _Great Spirit Mother_ who saw fit to challenge him. Maybe she was testing him, or perhaps she didn’t want him to have the peace of mind he found at the lake. But whatever her reason, she sent his brother and Chieftain to his tent time and time again, concern and disapproval of returning to the Mountain each day.   
Keith didn’t see the harm. He used to fish in the river by himself, he used to practice hunting on the Hierochloe Plateau without supervision, so why do they have to concern themselves now? 

Why couldn’t he venture out on his own? It wasn’t like they cared anyway.   
_They do care,_ they would say, but their worry wouldn’t hold Keith back. 

The lake was a drug to him, the peace of it captivating enough that the Mothers began their whispering again. _Dark magic,_ they would utter, narrowed eyes to the boy not like them; his light skin out-casting him from them and their children. Fear for their young ones safety ushered in warnings to stay clear. 

Keith didn’t mind. He didn’t need company, not when he had the Lake. He didn’t believe in magic, nor the fearful tales of magic creatures that lurked in the deep: _Mer_ with bodies of Man and tails of fish, great _Kci-Athussos_ serpents that ensnared children to devour them, the trickster god _Keoonik_ who would bring misfortune on the Marmora if ever they insulted him. 

_Best to stay away from the lake,_ the Mothers would say. _Best to avoid the White Man’s Child, for he tampers in things that he does not understand._

Memories brought the plague of anger: hot and dry, it pulsated within Keith, the movement of limbs jarring as words filled his mind. He’s not bothered by their words, _he’s not,_ what they say remains untrue so… 

Frustration lays about him like a cloak, heavy in the water. Keith is tired all of a sudden, dragging himself from the lake to his outcrop of rocks, climbing out along the ledge that overlooks the shallow.   
His hand fists a black rock from his pile, the sharp edges biting his skin, before the thing is released in a projectile. The lake surface explodes at contact, again and again as rocks thrown one after another, destroying the serene mirror of the lake surface. 

Mindlessness caught him, and Keith’s anger dissolved into a competition with himself to see how far he could throw the rocks, perfecting .   
Then came skimming the smooth pebbles, the stones arching and jumping, once, twice before catching themselves under the waves, sinking back to the lake bottom where they remain to be worn away by the currents. 

_Peace. Calm. Quiet._

Keith paid himself no mind, reaching down to the steady declining treasure trove of shaped stones, fingers curling around one without thinking, lifting, aiming, preparing himself to toss it into the lakes’ depths—

Something flickered in his peripheral. 

Keith’s gaze was drawn to what lay in his outstretched hand, eyes wide upon recognition. Or more accurately, the ignorance to the object he held. It lay there just as heavy as the common rocks plucked from the lake bed, yet this was anything but. In the sunshine, the quartz stone glittered like the surface of the sun-kissed lake; the brilliant hue of purple in the sky at Dusk, so vivid, so bright, Keith wondered if what he saw was the truth.   
Thoughts turned to _Keoonik,_ shock jolting through his body as he dropped the quartz, scrambling away from the trickster god’s treasure. How he obtained such a jewel was unknown, and although Keith never believed the Mothers and their tales, it was the only thought that came to his mind as he scurry backwards down the rock. 

The quartz dropped to the spire rock, clattering on its smooth surface, dropping back into the lake with a splash. Keith remained on his rock, looking down into the water, down to the shallows where the purple jewel shone back at him, just as bright as it lay in the shallows. 

Keith waited, watching the lake surface, the shoreline, the trees. He thought himself stupid, he shouldn’t be superstitious like his Tribe, but there was a natural fear here.   
Yet nothing came. Neither _Keoonik_ or _Kci-Athussos._ Not even the flick of a fish tail, breaking the surface of Lake; it remaining calm and flat. Still, Keith waited. Motionless, much like a predator stalking prey, Keith remained unbearably still on the rock, eyes glues to the glimmering stone, monitoring his peripheral for anything more than the rustling of leaves from the passing breeze. 

Time passed and the Sun changed its course through the sky, beginning its decent into the West by the time Keith pulled himself from his watch. He retrieved the amethyst from the shallows, watching the water droplets run down its smooth surface, silt having collected between the spires of crystal. It remained cold to the touch, smooth, almost soft in places as Keith returned to sit upon his rock, admiring the most beautiful of treasures found in the lake.  
Perhaps he had found it in his diving, but hadn’t taken much notice to it. Keith didn’t believe the thought, but all fear of the jewel left him as he rolled over, closed his eyes and smiled at the Sun.

\--------------------- ♦ --------------------- ♦ --------------------- ♦ ---------------------

It is the morning after the turn of the moon that Keith decided he should return to the lake. He’d argued with Shiro again, although this time it was not the younger who trekked into the Forest for the older, but the other way around. They’d been playing prey and predator for the past three days, but it was today that Keith had finally had enough of his brothers concern. He craved the solitude of the lake, but also felt called by the curiosity of the magic jewel.  
Yes, he said it.

_Magic._

What else could explain the appearance of the gem, now firmly secured, bound with leather as it hung from his neck, fastened with wooden beads in which he had carved little arrow heads as a sign of ownership. 

Keith had considered _Keoonik’s_ hand in all of this, and so planned to offer something to the trickster god, just in case. He ignored the voice in his head that reminded him that he didn’t believe in such, it was just a Mother’s tale to teach their child not to misbehave, for fear of being snatched up by the _Man-Eater,_ or falling prey to the _Rougarou,_ but then, what harm was there in being cautious? 

Keith prepared the offering back at camp, to lure Shiro into a false hope that his brother had abandoned the mountain. It only took a day to weave the raft, adding a mast to which he would secure a leaf. It was a child’s toy, but then _Keoonik_ was a trickster god, who loved to play alongside children when he wasn’t causing mischief. Hopefully he would appreciate it.   
If not, then the entity that had given Keith the amethyst. 

The next morning, Keith set out just as the sun crested the Eastern Mountains. Soon a glorious sweep of sunlight rushed over the valley, indicating the start to the day. Keith didn’t have long to make haste before either Shiro or the Elders noticed his absence. Sneaking out so early, with a deliberate plan in place filled him with excitement and fear too. His heart pulsed as the valley floor curved upwards and Keith changed direction from North East, to a more Westward direction, the rising sun on his back as he continued through the fields. 

The night’s rain left mist in the shadows of the Mountain, the earth damp as Keith left tracks to the _Nipi River_ and along the river bank, once again heading North. His determination to reach the lake unhindered increased with every milestone he passed, feeling contently pleased with himself as he reached the tree line at the base of Three Peak Mountain.

Before diving into the forest, Keith stopped for a moment to view the valley behind him; the snaking river the tumbled over rocks on its journey to the sea. He saw the _Hierochloe Plateau_ to the West; the _Pa’ah Falls_ that fell like golden water in the light of the sun.   
Keith could see his Tribe from here; the tents by the bo of the river, the steady stream of smoke as fires were lit. Shiro would know his brother had left by now. An hour’s head start, give or take, but that didn’t mean Keith could relax. The real fun was sure to start soon.

Although Shiro knew Keith’s destination was the lake, he didn’t actually know where it was. The Northern route was the obvious direction to reach the Mountain, and the lake that lay in a valley further North. There were plenty of lakes upon the mountain; all linked by Feeder Rivers and plenty more that met at the head of the valley to form the _Nipi River._

Alternating between jogging and walking, Keith headed West; feeling his steady pace slowing as the incline continued to gradually increase. It was now that Keith began to make a conspicuous trail, breaking branches, kicking footprints into the damp earth, remaining Westbound until he reached a small stream.   
The sun was well and truly risen; Shiro undoubtedly on his tail. His brother would have an easier time traversing the valley and mountain base, but Keith had a trick up his sleeve that he was eager to try, if only for the fulfilment of outwitting his brother. 

Keith took a moment beside the stream, cupping his hands and bringing the water to his lips, tasting the earthiness. He washed his face, running fingers over the back of his neck, feeling the cold liquid run over his skin, cooling him down from where the current trek had him working up a sweat. 

After stamping footprints near the stream’s bank to mislead his pursuer into thinking he had walked into the river, Keith traced his route back until he found the perfect tree.   
It was four feet from his initial path, a mature sycamore that rose high into the air. The first sturdy branch off the main trunk stretched out at twelve feet above his head. Trying not to disturb the earth surrounding Keith’s feet, he squat close to the base, pulling off his tote sack. Inside was his offering to _Keoonik,_ but also a length of rope taken from his tent. It wouldn’t be missed and Keith had taken it, securing a rock for weight at one end.   
He threw the weighted end into the tree, cocky, rushed. It missed. Keith caught it on the way down. Angry, and frantic to begin outsmarting his brother, Keith tried again. _Missed._

Keith glared at the tree, at the branch that surely he would’ve snagged by now. Calming himself, knowing that Shiro would not reach him just yet, Keith tried again. The rope sailed smoothly over the branch, the rock winding around the second length enough that when Keith pulled hard, it did not budge.   
Keith pulled the tote bag back onto his shoulders, grabbing the rope with two hands and lifted his weight off the ground, legs wrapping around the slack. It was difficult to climb in such a way, arms and back complaining with each haul further up the rope but Keith needed his first tree to be one that Shiro would think his brother unable to traverse directly. The twelve foot branch helped support that theory, as would the false trail Keith had left. 

Once poised upon the bow, Keith unwound the rope and stuffed it back in his sack. He was smiling, the notion he deemed justly deserved, dancing from branch to branch, light, nimble and agile. Climbing had been taught for hunting, but that was in the _Nissó Woods_ in the shadow of _Hierochloe Plateau,_ not hear in the large, wild forests of the mountain. The trees grew close to one another, their branches reaching out from their trunks to others, giving Keith the perfect path North East; to the lake and his final destination. 

Keith spent the next half hour climbing East through the trees until he was well away from his original path. He was slower than he would’ve been had he been walking, but that was too be expected. For once he was pleased for his smaller size that had once been the focus of teasing from the other children of the tribe.

The forest was alive with noise; bird chirping, the fluttering of their wings as they flew past, the buzzing of insects and the pattering of footsteps as herds sought out new grass for grazing. Still, Keith remained in the trees, not ready to drop to the ground in case Shiro hadn’t followed his fake trail and was hunting for him still. He employed his rope many times, used to bring branches within reach or to swing from one branch to another. His arms hurt, the muscles burning as he continued. 

Keith found a white oak with wide branches, straddling one to allow himself to strip off his tunic, remaining in just trousers and his undershirt. The unnecessary layers were stored in his tote bag, the rope looped around his waist for easier access.   
The cool air of the canopy helped stave off the want for dropping to the floor and searching for a stream, the burning muscles ignored in favour of a swim in the lake. _Soon, soon._

It was still early morning, perhaps two hours after Keith set out when he stopped, back resting against a tree’s trunk, eating the berries from a morello branch. He had foregone breakfast in favour of reaching the lake quicker; a fact his stomach didn’t appreciate. The soothing sounds of the forest were his companion, listening to the bird whistle and returning song in kind. 

“See anything?” A female voice below disrupted the quiet.   
Startled, Keith grabbed the branch to keep himself from falling. He froze in place, staring straight down to the empty forest floor. 

“No nothing.” It was Shiro. He had found his brother. 

Keith waited to be ordered down, but none came. Not even a call up to him where he remained in plain sight sat upon the branch. Keith couldn’t see Shiro or his female companion, remaining frozen on the branch, clinging to the small hope that maybe Shiro hadn’t seen him after all.   
After a bit of rustling, two people emerged from the shadows of the forest. One was easily Shiro, his salt and pepper hair in striking contrast to the green and brown of the forest, yet that held no light to the stranger. She was _beautiful._

Not a young girl, but a young woman who seemed one with the forest with the way she moved, dressed in a gossamer veil of green that shimmered in the shafts of sunlight that filtered through the trees. Her hair was white as snow, braided into a plait that reached her back, woven with a tiara crafted from sticks, wisteria flowers interlinked delicately. It sat upon her brow, pushing back her fringe and the hair that framed her face, revealing the tattoo of indiscernible pattern on one side of her face.   
Her skin was the colour of the earth, her body graceful as she bent to the ground, palm pushing into the earth, searching for a sign of Keith.

“Allura, are you sure he came this way. There are no tracks.”  
“The stream said he didn’t cross her. The only way he could’ve come was East,” she said, standing once more, placing a hand on Shiro’s shoulder. “He’s fine Shiro. The wolves are yet to return and the bears are still waking. There are no predators who will hurt him.”   
“And what of the White Man?” Shiro asked, turning this way and that as if he would be able to spot his brother wading through the undergrowth. “The White Man stays in the Eastern Plains. Keith has no enemies upon this mountain. He will be safe.”   
Shiro calmed at her words, palms touching as he held her hand leaning into her space. 

Keith felt himself to be intruding as he watched the pair embrace, this stranger closer to Shiro than to anyone in the Tribe. Was she from another? Yet Keith didn’t know of any, Nomadic or otherwise that lived close to their Valley. There were the Arusian, but they lived in the South in the warmer climate. The Balmeran lived to the North, but they rarely ventured into Marmora territory, preferring solitude in the mountains. 

Shiro sighed and they pulled apart. “I don’t understand the logic of going East. His trail led West.”   
The other smiled. “You’re not supposed to understand. The birds told us he was travelling back to the South East, so we travel South East. We should continue though. This talking has given him a chance to get ahead of us. And I thought you wanted to find him before midday,” she chided, taking Shiro’s hand, leading him along the path she carved for them. “I hoped to find him before he reached the lake,” Shiro corrected, and in a wink that two had gone, disappearing back into the underbrush. 

Keith strained to hear them moving but he couldn’t tell how far they had gone. He felt a sense of pride at having outsmarted his brother, although this woman he travelled with had been able to realise Keith’s plan to trick them. But now he knew their path, scolding himself for losing his own sense of direction.   
Adjusting his course, tossing the morello branch to the floor, Keith set off for the Lake in the North. As he worked his way through the branches, keeping to the high bending bows of the canopy, an odd, creeping feeling burrowed its way into his mind. Somehow he became convinced Shiro and his companion had only been toying with him, now following below.   
Desperate to reach the lake before caught, Keith pushed onwards, the feeling like a hand around his throat. When he couldn’t stand it any longer, Keith dropped to the ground and bolted. 

Keith burst through the edge of the clearing, catching himself on a sapling before he tumbled over the raised cliff that overlooked the dark pool on the West border of the lake. He laughed to himself, envisioning his first trip to the lake, the realisation he was much closer than he thought he had been. But now he was here, back at the sanctity of the lake and the solitude it brought. 

Keith picked his way back along the Cliffside, eyes on his rock and the willow that swayed in the breeze. The mid-morning sunlight glittered on the surface, the gentle lapping waves rushing over the pebbles as Keith dropped down to the bank, jogging over to his sunning rock. He slipped off the tote bag, his boots, undershirt and trousers before running to the end of his rock and diving in.   
The cold water swallowed him whole, eyes closed he kicked deeper, feeling his body relax to the feeling of the coolness wash over him, letting his limbs to the thinking as he clawed his way deeper and deeper to the lakes depths. His hands found purchase on the lake bed, sediment whipped up as he tumbled, pressing bare feet on the algae rocks, pushing off hard as he headed up to the surface. 

Keith dived again and again, limbs following the motion of dragging himself through the water, his organic fluidity perfected with every length from the surface to Below. He carved the surface with powerful rhythmic strokes, taking him far out to the middle of the lake, further than he had dared to swim before. He glides through the small waves caused by the wind, wishing nothing more than to be able to breathe in the freedom below the surface. But Keith remains content of the in between, able to dive and play in the currents, clambering up the Cliffside to dive into the water, listening to the splash he creates, watching the water turn white as the bubbles surround him in their race to the surface. 

It’s peaceful at the lake. Calm and quiet. 

Upon the rock, Keith dried himself with his tunic, pulling on his trousers but leaving his top bare. He looked down to his chest, admiring the amethyst the shone in the sun. Keith clutched it gently, turning face to the lake and the mysterious stranger who had given it.   
It jolted his mind back to the offering, rushing to his sack to pull out his tunic and the craft that remained inside. He took it out, checking for damage. Upon finding none, Keith took the raft to the lake’s shore, placing it on the surface. With a slight nudge, the raft caught a surface current and travelled away from the shore.   
Keith watched it go, cross-legged upon his rock. 

He spent the remainder of the afternoon smoothing the black rocks into arrow heads. It was as therapeutic as swimming and Keith’s pile of rock diminished quickly; the excess taken to the shore and sprinkled in the water like rain drops. It made wonderful music, and Keith wished to stay for longer. 

It wasn’t until Keith heard the call of the Night Owl did he realise how late it was; that the time to depart had come and gone. He hurried to the outcrop, gathering up his bag and boots from the base of the willow, cursing whoever would listen about the unfairness of Shiro and his _“caring.”_  
Undoubtedly, he had spent the day searching for Keith, now well and truly panicking considering his brother had not returned home. 

Keith didn’t stop, nor look back at the head that breached the surface of the Lake, watching the Human that ran on two legs, nimble over rock and tree root, leaving the lake shore. 

_And the Mer that watched from the reeds._


	3. Refuse To Bend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith is reluctant to abandon the peace he found at the Lake.

Keith set off for home, hurrying away from the lake. He cursed to himself, spying the moon before he broke the tree line, rushing through the trees before night fell and he lost his vision completely.   
He remained mindful to remember the trail this time, noting easier descents as he forged down the mountain side, tumbling quicker and quicker as the decline mellowed out, the trees growing sparser as he reached the head of the Valley. Dry earth made running easy, the stretching shadow of Three Peaks his guide as he traversed the sea of long grass that danced and swayed. 

Keith disturbed a herd of caribou from their grazing, the swooping birds taking flight as he raced the setting sun to the Marmora Tribe that waited for him. The campfire light guided his way; a beacon of light that guided him along _Nipi’s Shore_ to the tents and bodies that waited for him with their worry and their anger. 

Antok caught sight of him before he reached the Tribe, riding with Swiftflight to meet him, scowling down upon the runt that had snuck out. Keith stopped in his tracks, looking up to the older without expression, waiting for the backlash.   
Then, Antok’s face twisted into a smile.   
“You gave your brother a good run. He’s been tearing his hair out.”   
“How long?” Keith asked, accepting the hand that was offered to him, joining the boy astride his mount. Antok craned his head back around at him, the glint in his eye all too apparent in the dwindling light. “All day. He returned home an hour ago.” Keith shook his head with a roll of his eyes. Trust Shiro to worry himself. 

“Did he go by himself?”   
Although Keith knew the girl he had seen this morning was not of their tribe, he wondered who else knew of her, if it was she that Shiro ventured to the mountain to see: _For love._   
When all Keith sought out was peace and space to breathe. 

“Yes. He left first light after you did. When he didn’t return by midday, Kolivan sent the Braves. They caught up to Shiro after following your trail.” Antok’s smile widened playfully, mischievousness in his eyes. “You managed to outwit the Braves as well as your brother. I have to say, I’m impressed.”   
Keith smiled, but then he sobered as Antok clicked his tongue. Swiftflight began to move. 

Keith clutched Antok’s waist as he bounced on the horse’s back. He struggled to keep his balance – not often riding horseback considering Thace was always leaving for the Hunt, never having the time to teach Keith. Not like he had done for Shiro. Childish bitterness wasn’t Keith’s flavour of hatred, so he abandoned the notion of learning by lesson, deciding if he needed to know, he’d figure out how to ride without himself hurting when the time came.   
If not, the boy would ask Antok, when the older wasn’t preparing himself for the Warrior’s Trail, like Shiro. Mid-Spring was drawing nearer, and once the ice of the mountains had melted and joined the _Nipi River_ to the sea, the hopeful Braves would leave for their Rite Of Passage. 

Antok and Keith rode into camp, past the circle tents towards the huge fire pit. Brown painted animal shapes watched from the pale canvas of the tents, watchful eyes shared with the tribe. Some were seated near the fire, cooking, while others tended to the children who ran up to Antok and his mount, greeting him, congratulating him for finding Keith who had run away.   
The boy dismounted, dropping to the ground, a final farewell to Antok before turning to his own tent. But before he could slip in, he was spied by his brother. Shiro was sat cross-legged with two older men and a young woman. They were intent on their discussion, but at Keith’s arrival, they turned to face him. Kolivan raised a hand, calling Keith closer. 

Keith walked to them, ignoring the murmured quiet of the camp. Shiro made to stand, anger his companion, but Thace; with his skin painted a dark brown, waved off the motion without a word. They studied Keith’s approach in silence, remaining so as the boy stood before them, offering only his gaze in greeting. They didn’t press for words. 

“You left early this morning,” Kolivan says. The inflection of his voice rose and fell with each word, and there was a slight pause between them.   
Keith studied the Elder’s face, searching for an emotion, yet everything remained hidden behind carefully worded sentences. Keith refused to cower, letting his eyes sweep the markings on the man’s face. “At sun’s first light.”   
Antok snorted a short laugh through his nose, as he joined the small little group by the fire after setting Swiftflight to graze in his pasture.   
Narti scowled to her brother. Antok just shrugged. He settled himself next to his sister, opposite Shiro in the horseshoe that the five of them created. 

Kolivan was still watching Keith with a blank expression, scrutinising him. The fire crackled and popped beside them, a shower of sparks thrown at the boy’s feet, but he remained, braced for the Elder’s anger. Yet the quiet unnerved him, and arguments that he had planned fizzled and disappeared in his mind. 

“You travelled to Three Peak,” Kolivan said, breaking gaze to confirm this with Shiro. He nodded, Antok too, before looking back to the boy. “You headed West to the River. Then your trail disappeared.”   
There is a hint of pride in his voice and suddenly Keith realises that the Elder does not regard him in anger; he’s impressed that this boy, of twelve summers, has eluded those older and more practiced in hunting. And Keith hasn’t even travelled the Warrior’s Trail. 

Keith speaks slowly. “I knew Shiro would follow me. I did not want him to intrude upon my peace, so I left no trail.”  
Kolivan leant forward. “You knew Shiro would follow?”  
“Is it his nature.”   
Thace smiled at this, Antok too. “And it is in your nature not to listen?”   
“It is every child’s nature to be curious. My curiosity simply leads me to the Mountains.” Kolivan nods, looking past Keith to something, or someone behind him. Keith doesn’t look. Whoever it is isn’t addressed, the Elder’s eyes once more turning to the child. “What I want to know, is _how?”_  
But Keith didn’t want to tell them. 

If they learnt that he walked among the trees, then they knew how to follow, and they would stop him from travelling to the Lake again. Thace was alert to Keith’s resistance, a hand on Kolivan’s thigh to stem the flow of questions. “Did someone teach you?” he said, directing the focus away, trying again from a different angle. Softer. Lighter.  
“Through watching,” Keith says before he’s had the chance to catch his words. He’s thinking back to the forest creatures that had scampered in the canopy as he forged through the underbrush. “And you returned to the lake, after we deliberately told you not to?” 

Shiro tenses at this, leaning in as he waits for the answer. When none is given, he interrupts the silence, his brows knitted in tried impatience. “Well?”  
Keith forgot himself, forgot the calm he implored, instead rounding on his brother like a beast in a cage. “You ventured to the mountain day in, day out, leaving me behind. So, what if I followed you once? So, what if I found my own sanctuary, away from words that won’t be stemmed by a tongue’s lashing. You may no longer feel the weight of their glares, but that doesn’t mean I have to.” Anger, hot and burning, rose up inside Keith. He couldn’t keep the fire, could keep the hurt from his voice as mothers and their children watched on with their _“knowing looks.”_

Before Keith can unleash rage and curses, Kolivan simply raises a hand. “Sit,” the Elder orders. “You’ve been gone all day, you must be tired.” Surprised at the lack of retaliation, Keith feels nothing in his chest but pain and emptiness. He nods and did as he was told. He wasn’t foolish enough to think that the skill of outwitting the Braves left Kolivan angerless. He doesn’t wish to inflame such with disrespect. Only Shiro was deserving, but he had the protection of the Elders. 

So, the boy joins the others, regretting it the second he found purchase on the dry grass. His legs ached from walking and swimming alike, his hunger flaring when he caught a whiff of roasting meat, and he realised he hadn’t eaten since the morning.   
Regris brought the group food, Keith devouring his without looking to the Elders. If they wanted to scold him then they can scold him, but for now they feasted in silence, only Antok and Narti choosing to participate in conversation. It’s to the caribou they turn their attention, the last coming of the wolves and White Man’s trail they found, the Eastern face of Three Peak’s smallest sister. 

“And you’re sure they ventured no further than the low slopes,” Thace said lowly, after Antok told them of the trails that they had found when searching for signs of Keith. The younger nodded his head, accepting a drink from Shiro. “They watered their horses, but turned when the sun did and disappeared back down towards the _Eastern Plains._ I’m travelling with Shiro and the others to venture into their lands at first light. We’ll be back before tomorrow’s moon rises with news.”   
Keith listened, wondering if anger was withdrawn for the sake of not pushing the boy to the Mountain again. Not if the White Man was venturing from their known hunting paths. Before he could raise his questions, Regris nudged him with a pointed look. The boy understood his voice was not needed and remained quiet, finishing his meal quickly and retreating into the darkness of his tent. He stood in the muted light, waiting for his eyes to adjust. 

Keith picked his way over to the rug in the centre on the room, slipping out his layers until he was bare; all accept the amethyst charm that he never removed since the first time he placed it around his neck. He crawled into a sleep sack, pulling the furs around him as he closed his eyes, blocking out the gnawing anger, starved from a fight taken from him all too soon, ignoring the clamour outside his tent.   
If the White Man was moving from his hunting paths, and drawing attention from Keith, then that meant he was free to travel to the Lake again with nothing to hinder him. And as he settled to sleep, Keith couldn’t help but feel excitement for the coming dawn.

\--------------------- ♦ --------------------- ♦ --------------------- ♦ ---------------------

“Lance? Lance hold up!”  
“Come on, it’s this way,” Lance grinds, pushing at the rock with his fingers, finding one hold and then another to drag him through the gap, barely wide enough for an adult to fit through. But he’s not an adult, not yet anyway, and even though most days that would be something to dry his smile, Lance takes pride that he can squeeze through the small crevice. Hunk isn’t as easy to make it through.

“Quickly Hunk, before the guards come.”   
“Not — _uh_ — something that you should— _oof_ — tell me when I’m…. _Shit I’m stuck.”_  
“You’re not stuck, you’ve just stopped,” comes a muffled voice of their younger friend, who has it easier than any of them considering her small stature. “No, I’m pretty sure I’m— oh wait, _wait,_ Pidge _where are you touching!”_ Hunk makes an unceremonious screech and then all of a sudden, he’s through, his tail flickering with a golden flash as he tumbles into open water, teeth white in the dark as he grins sheepishly up at the two of them. He’s still got his hand wrapped tight with Lance’s, his fingers white where Hunk has held on too tight from unnecessary fear. 

Lance grinned. “See? That wasn’t so bad,” he reassures him, fingers curling around his friend wrist to alleviate some of the pressure. Hunk notices, smiles that sheepish smile again, before releasing his death grip. “Sorry.” 

Pidge hushes them both, turning back to the crevice, making sure they haven’t been followed before pulling the curtain of lakebed grass back to cover the fault in the outer wall. “And done,” she says, turning around once more.   
Lance lets out a breath he didn’t realise he’s been holding. It’s one thing to go beyond the walls by himself – he does it all the time – but with Hunk and Pidge in tow, he’s a little less open to the risk of being caught. Hunk, naturally, is exempt from all repercussions – being son of the King and Queen will do that for a Mer, and Pidge will get off light because this would be her first fault. 

_Lance however…._

“So, this is what you wanted to show us?” Pidge asks, swimming away a little, staring in the darkness before them. She gives her tail another flick, experimentally, and the darkness swallows her whole. “Pidge?”   
“C’mon, we better follow her. Before the Deep Caves swallow her up,” Lance adds, turning back to flash an evil grin at his best friend, who hasn’t left the shelter of the rock’s shadow. Hunk swallows loudly, glancing around him, but there’s nothing but Lance, the expanse, and the city wall. 

“Hurry up Hunk, or Pidge really will get lost.”   
It is all that needs to be said, before Hunk pushes off of the outer wall, following Lance and Pidge out into the open, curling up, away from the glow of their home, to the misting shine of budding sunlight glancing off of the Surface. He doesn’t head straight there, of course, if not Pidge and Hunk would hamper on about risk and the monsters that walk on two legs and steal the fish from the water. Another tale, simply spun so guppies stayed close to their mothers.   
A trick that never worked on Lance. 

For a while, the three swam straight, with Pidge disappearing ever now and then, quick and nimble, before sneaking up on the pair. Lance is faster by far and could easily leave the pair in his wake, but he is content to mellow with Hunk rather than swirl the underwater into a wash of bubbles. Besides, its fun to mess around with his friends; something he doesn’t have much opportunity to do, what with Hunk’s royal duties and Pidge’s obligation to help her family.   
Lance didn’t have any such responsibilities. He had the freedom of a large family that allowed eyes to skim over him and beyond, leaving him peace of mind to travel and explore, even if the boundaries of the lake refused to bend to the whims and wishes of a Mer quickly outgrowing his home. 

For every colony of colourful fish and rainbow shoals that aren’t seen in the inner wall, Hunk and Pidge are mesmerised, the younger trying to hide the joy of such everyday wonders from Lance, trying to retain the maturity they drew on themselves when the King first summoned her to court. But Pidge soon forgets, and she’s chasing Hunk and the fish that dart in and out of the lake rocks; spirals of water-worn shapes that stand erect on the sloping bed of the lake. 

Lance watches with a smile.   
He’s seen it all before, can’t help the want for more, but content, for now, to share his adventures with his friends. 

Hunk’s worry left him as soon as they abandoned the shelter of the city walls, and now they’re playing tag in the water reeds, flitting back and forth between one another. Soon it turns into two versus Lance, but his tail and flexibility has him dancing out their reach before they’re anywhere near him.   
He holds the lead of course, showing his friends how to catch an underwater current and how to ride it, letting themselves be propelled forward, tails floating lazily behind them, only called upon to escape the current before it goes crashing into the rocks that jut up from the lake’s curving floor. They’re still deep, in terms of distance to the surface, but the three of them have been swimming long enough that the sun’s light reaches them. 

They raced the river dolphins past the Mer’s border, playing chase and tag until they reached the Deep.   
The underwater current changed as they neared the edge, growing colder when they came to the darkness of the underwater caves. Lance swallowed loudly, waving farewell to the calves that wouldn’t follow as the Mer-boy swam out over the abyss, much to Hunk and Pidge’s cries for him to come back. 

“You’re just a bunch of guppies,” Lance laughed, flicking his tail for a jet of speed, so he wasn’t hovering over the darkness any longer than he needed to.   
The chill of the cold waters clung to his scales and Lance forced himself not to look down, another burst of speed taking him away from the void. “Lance! Come back,” Pidge called, worry filling her voice, loud but not quite shrill as she dared not raise her words too loud, in case the sleeping monsters heard her.   
Lance just flashed his tail, one, twice, and he’s gone, leaving his friends to skirt around the edges, cursing his scales when they finally find him again, lazing on the soft sand of the rising lake shore. “Kelp brain,” Pidge hisses, throwing a rock, caught by the currents before settling once more on the lake bed. Lance just flashes his teeth. 

Under the blue-tailed Mer’s instructions, they turn away from the middle of the lake, instead skirting along its’ rising slopes, where the water reeds grow tall and luscious. From here they can see the otter pups swimming through the fronds, rooting around for food, scaring out a shoal of fish. Hunk and Pidge laugh when Lance joins in, racing the pups through the shadows, stopping when they head up to the surface.   
Once again, his friends are by his side. “Have you ever gone further?” Hunk asks, staring up at the veil, shimmering with light. The Mer makes to speak, but Pidge beats him to it, wearing her trademark scowl. “No, he wouldn’t. He’s not _that much_ of an idiot. Everyone knows the Above is dangerous,” she says pointedly, turning fierce eyes on Lance.   
The blue-finned boy just shrugs. “You give me too much credit, Pidge.” 

Neither offer the boy to explain, when they hear the sound of disturbance from Above. Pidge and Hunk look up with wary eyes, knowing the dissonance of the veil to mean the winds are picking up. A storm is coming. 

“We should head back,” Hunk says, because of course he’s the first to cave. Lance had been expecting it, but not this soon, and he can feel his chest tightening when he realises that he won’t be able to float on the Between. _Unless—_  
“Race you back,” Lance says with a grin, his tail flicking Hunk on the chin as he darts past, then twists and flies in the opposite direction when Hunk makes to grab him. “Hey, no fair! You’re just going to swim across the Deep again.”   
“Then you better get moving.” 

Of course, Lance reaches the edge of the Deep before Hunk and Pidge are out of sight. But when they’re gone, Lance doesn’t continue forward.   
He came here, past the walls so he could venture to the surface, and that’s exactly what he’s going to do. So, turning on his tail, Lance heads straight back to the shadows and up, body thrumming with energy as he pushes past to the veil into the wonderful, _wonderful_ Above.   
He holds his body high out the water, taking deep breaths of the Air he’d never be a part of. 

The Late Spring weather should have been warmer, but the rains have lingered longer since the passing of Winter, and the snows on the peaks were still to bow to the Sun’s warmth and join the river in its race to the sea. The coming storm doesn’t help either, but it is just one out of many that remains colder than Lance would like. 

The Lake’s border remained at the roots of the Willow saplings, the bank that curved upwards, acting as a barrier to the water’s will stands, the rocks jutting out, inviting Lance from the shallows, onto their smooth surface. At first, Lance was eager to climb from the water and lounge in the rays of early morning sun, but this time, he kept himself to the sanctuary of water.   
Where once, the Mer’s focus for the Above was the Sun and her warmth, now stood different. Not the Above itself, but a creature that lived there. It was the boy that had fallen into the Lake’s depth one day, jolting Lance from his hunt of smooth stone pebbles at the mouth of the Eastern Stream. He had watched him, torn between curiosity and fear of a creature he had only heard of in tales.   
But it was true. 

_Humans were real._

Curious, two-legged creatures that couldn’t breathe in the water like Mer, but could breathe the Air and walk in the Above like many of the Forest creatures that came to drink the water of the Lake. Yet the water had accepted the thin, weedy boy that dived below the surface, hunting stones as Lance has done. He stacked them on top of one another on the larger rocks, lazy and idle as he explored the Lake shallows. But then, as quick as he had come, the boy was leaving, hiding his skin under fur of other creatures, hiding his body as if he was embarrassed by what was given to him by the Water Goddess.   
Had the Water Goddess carved Human’s from the ice of the mountain, like she had the first Mer? Or perhaps Great Spirit Mother sculpted them from the Earth, the Thunder Gods playing their drums to awaken the hearts deep inside the warm, blood-borne bones. 

Entranced by the creature only heard of in stories, Lance returned, day after day, to watch from the shallows; waiting for his return. 

Some days, the boy would join the water and swim, rarely venturing to far from the shore. Other days he’d sit on the scree bank near the high ledges, looking down into the water. Once, Lance thought he saw the Lake in the boy’s eyes, trailing lines down pale cheeks, wiped away with odd little sounds like the young kits snuffling when they came to the water’s edge. 

The Mer-Child knew his new-found curiosity would return to the Lake, even if the coming storm stood as a deterrent. But come he would and Lance had ventured to the surface to watch him.   
Still fearful of letting himself be seen, Lance crawled over to the reed bed, tucking into the space under the overhanging rock, sheltered behind water reeds and the roots of the nearby Willow that grew near the bank. He took long lengths of the water reeds, circling one around his waist, another one, thinner and easy to break, hooked on the end of his tail. It allowed him the peace of napping just beneath the water’s Veil without fear of floating away, up to the surface or down to the darkness of the Deep Caves. 

Lance settled into his nest of reeds and waited.

**Author's Note:**

> Make sure you’ve subscribed so that you receive upload notifications – because you know me and my shitty ability to keep to an upload schedule. 
> 
> Also, if you enjoyed this and fancied checking out my other stuff, there are more Klance fics, ultimate Langst fics, a little Shance and then a treasure trove of one shots in the series "Altean Bedtime Stories" which I’m collecting prompts for, so if you want to throw me a pairing, a title or a prompt – in the comment section – I would GREATLY appreciate it!!!  
> Also, prompts aren’t restricted to Voltron. If there’s anything you want me to have a go at, throw the idea my way and I shall try not to butcher it!
> 
> I've finally set myself up a "Buy Me A Coffee" page, so if you want to support me, motivate me, or just keep me awake with caffeine, then at is all graciously accepted! Remember, [ dragon's love coffee too!](https://www.buymeacoffee.com/5luohPY3v)
> 
> Much love xxx


End file.
